Hetalia: 2p England x Reader (One-Shot Series? Maybe)
by TheDarkMistress16
Summary: Rated K for one curse word said twice. Completed for now. The idea behind this planned out 'series' is that you and Oliver have a lot of moments together in his house. Whether you are taken in by him, meet him on the street and become friends, or even drop into the 2p!hetalia world, have a case of amnesia and have to stay with England, that's all up to you. *I ONLY OWN THE PLOT*


Idea #14: _**2p!Sick!England x (Kidnapped?)Reader- Care (One-shot Series)**_

Plot: _Oliver has come down with a cold unexpectedly, and you immediately start caring for him; you're gentle touches and caresses and the stern tone to your voice when Oliver pushes himself too hard makes him wonder where your true feelings for him lie. He doesn't know that he desires your touch more every day; or that he's slowly falling in love._

You sigh, staring at the strawberry-blonde Englishman struggling on the couch.

"Oliver,"

He grunts in response, trying to hold his arms steady as he lifts his legs to swing over the edge.

This proved unsuccessful.

"Oliver, stop."

"J-just a moment-gnnah, poppet."

"There is no way you can bake in your condition-"

"I'm f-fine, see?" Oliver forces a smile, but it quickly turns into a scowl when a cough is ripped from his throat and his body shook. He cranes his neck the best he can to look at you from his current position, and pulls the most cliché face you've ever witnessed.

"Please?"

His pleas fall upon deaf ears.

Your glare hardens.

"Oliver Kirkland, you will not go into his kitchen by any means necessary in your condition. Got it?"

He gulps, and his eyes downcast sadly like he had been scolded by his mother.

Feeling a pang of guilt, you sigh more softly this time, and start to walk over to him. "You shouldn't push yourself, not until you feel better."

Oliver's eyes slowly open, revealing weak blue orbs. "Poppet…"

"Alright?"

His eyes close and he nods slowly. One of your hands checks his temperature, but soon starts to absentmindedly stroke his hair when you frown and realize that his fever has gotten worse. "I'll go get a rag for your head, okay?"

When he nods you make your way to the bathroom, grabbing a few extra necessities you might need.

You return to the living room to see his resting face; the winces through his closed eyes making it hard for him to imagine he's somewhere else.

Setting the items previously gathered aside, you ease yourself slowly on the couch; as to not startle him.

He opened his eyes for a moment to notice your form, but closed with a groan before you could notice the emotion behind it.

Soaking the washcloth in a small bowl, wringing it out of excess water a bit, you leaned over to carefully dab his forehead.

Oliver's eyes scrunched up at the odd sensation, but relaxed when he felt the hotness melting away.

After a while of the cool cloth, and when you felt a subtle, but significant decrease in his now low fever, Oliver groaned as you took the now warm, soaked rag from his forehead and placed it in the 'water' bowl.

"_," He called; feeling his weakness start to fade and his energy slowly return.

"Hmm." You acknowledged, groping the table for the thermometer.

A moment's silence passed; and then you turned to focus on the Englishman; whose face expressed relief and... fondness? A hint of a smile crossed his lips; no indication of the insane persona behind it.

"Thank you..." Oliver's voice was what had confirmed his emotions at the moment; real and true.

You looked down and blushed, avoiding his gaze and taking in a nervous breath.

"It's no problem," You whispered, now busying yourself with riding the water and perspiration off his forehead. "I would've done it regardless."

Before Oliver could question your words, you got off the couch and walked into the kitchen.

You came back out with a glass of water setting it down on the table, and started to get out his medicine.

Pills in hand, you turned toward the red-faced Englishman, who was now pleading with his eyes not to be fed the foul-tasting medication.

You were about to shake your head and lecture Oliver when you realized that he hasn't ate in the past hour since he woke up. You sigh, put the medicine down, and head to the kitchen once more to make him something light that he could digest easily.

You even heated up some chicken broth for good measure.

As you walked into the living room once more you came across a groaning psychopath. When he noticed your presence was blank, he whined your name.

"I'm getting hot again!" Oliver blurted.

For a moment, you were standing there shocked, the next a strong blush spread across your face. You cleared your throat to try to compose yourself and then moved to hand him the meal.

"Here. It will help with the medicine."

After a moment of staring at the food, Oliver looked up at you and whined again.

"Poppet, I can't eat this!"

You gave him a look.

"What do you mean you can't eat it?"

You asked disbelievingly. You narrowed your eyes at him from the armchair you had just sat in.

"I need you to feed me, _!"

You stilled, trying to comprehend exactly what he said. You could just hear the smile in his voice at his own idea.

"Feed me, _!"

The fact that he said your name made you all the more embarrassed. You fidgeted in your seat before sucking up the courage to meet his eyes.

There was a dullness to the soft blue hues, but also held some interest in them. The longer you gazed, the bigger the spark was growing in those eyes.

You suddenly look away and spit out quickly:

"Fine."

"Yay!"

The male cheered, his smile growing even more when you made your way over to him.

When you sat down next to Oliver, you stared at the meal you fixed up in hesitation.

You now hated your decision to make SOUP, of all things.

No, you hated all soup. Probably forever now. Damnit. Damn you.

"Well…?"

Oliver asked, leaning toward your form a bit and looking slightly downcast when you didn't face him.

You snapped out of your trance right before he was about to call you out once more.

"Uh, what do you want first?"

Oliver blinked at the unexpected question and thought for a moment.

"Whatever you want, poppet! I don't mind~!"

He encouraged, pushing the tray almost forcefully into your hands.

You took a breath and decided to get the worse out of the way.

With a shaky hand you scooped up the liquid using the spoon that was already provided, and slowly brought it to Oliver's lips.

You closed your eyes, mainly out of embarrassment, and waited to refill the spoon.

Nothing happened.

Blinking, you looked up at him, who was just sitting there with a pout on his face.

"What?!" You ask bluntly, already frustrated with the world.

"_, you can't feed me like that!" He whines again. "You have to…"

Oliver points to his now-open mouth to prove his point.

You were definitely about to yell at him again until he started making a sound in his throat.

It sounded like the non-stopping vowel of-

' _No. Not that.'_

"Oh yes, _! Exactly that~!"

Oops. Looks like you accidently said your thoughts out-loud.

You groan, trying to hide your blush.

"Say 'ahhh', Oliver." You command with the most monotone voice and the best poker face that you could muster up, despite your situation.

Oliver glares at your unwillingness to go along with this charade but complies as he also closes his eyes.

A moment of silence passes until you sigh, realizing he wasn't going to swallow it himself.

' _Honestly, do I have to do everything for him?'_

You tilt the spoon into his mouth and pull away for another spoonful of soup.

"I can't believe you can't even feed yourself…"

You grumble lowly, staring at the soup bowl as if it was the cause of all your problems. It was, in a way.

"Oh, but _, it's more fun this way!"

You still tried your best to avoid Oliver's content gaze toward you while you fed him the rest of the food.

 _~Later On~_

"Take it."

"No."

"C'mon, Oliver. Just take it."

The so-called 'gentleman' turned his head away from the pills in your hand.

"It'll make you feel better!"

He shook his head. "Nu-uh."

"Oliver! Don't you want to get better?"

"It won't help me unless you do it, _!"

You falter in your attempts of shoving the medicine down his throat. "W-what do you mean..?"

"Give me the medicine with your mouth!"

That was when you stopped in your tracks.

Your blood went cold.

Your heart was beating a mile a second.

"No."

"_-_..?"

"No, no, no, no, no, nonononono No. There is no WAY I'm doing that." You practically laughed at the absurdity of the idea.

Oliver was shocked, to say the least. Throughout the whole day you've been pampering him this was the first request of his you have denied with such passion.

"W-why not?"

You basically scoffed, almost choking on your own laughter like a spit-take from the furious verbal onslaught that was going on in your head. "Why?" You mocked; giving him a: I-can't-believe-your-asking-me-this look.

"I'm not kissing you when you're sick!" You scold. "You should be lucky I've been helping you out so far!"

All Oliver could do was stand there and watch with growing concern as you waved your arms around with a not-so-happy look on your face.

"Poppet…"

"For all I know, I'm already sick from just by staying here! I just care about you too damn much that I can't even pay attention to myself! And-" You began to go off on your rant, which had sounded like you were trying to match the speed from an Italian; with the way you were jumbling your words together in a rush to get all your frustrations out.

You were stopped short when you felt something on your lips. _'Something soft…'_

The thing pulled away from your lips before you could react to it, and your eyes, which were shut tightly from feeling the beginnings of tears, slowly blinked open to reveal a nervously shuffling, blushing brit.

"There, _. Now you don't have to worry about getting sick! Heheh…" Oliver trailed off at the end, refusing to meet your gaze as he slightly smiled like he was in some love-struck daze.

Then you realized what must have just happened.

"You…" You stare at him, whispering in shock: "…you…" Giving an anger-drained sigh, you mutter out: "I hate you." While looking away, arms crossed.

Oliver skipped over to you and pecked you on the cheek. "I love you too, poppet!" He sang happily, smiling brightly as he rocked back and forth on the balls of his heels. His hands were clasped behind his back like he was playing innocence.

You growl, cursing him for making your blush increase to a more red shade. "Just take your damn medicine already." You shove the pills into his face once more, trying your best to hide your tinted cheeks from his triumphant gaze.

Oliver grins cheekily, ecstatic that he reduced you to such a nervous blush. To you, though, it seemed like he was already getting better pretty quickly.

A little too quickly…

 _Fin~_


End file.
